Chapter 6: The Witch of the Western Forest
***She was a woman who could smile as vibrantly as a field of wildflowers, radiating a purity so flawless she seemed untouched by even the faintest trace of imperfection. She had appeared so kind, as if she could embrace all the mistakes and flaws of others.
There was always a warm curve to her lips—even now, as a hero pulled her head out of a sack soaked with blood.
The citizens cheered, for the Witch of the Western Forest was dead.
***As darkness began to fall, the master and disciple parted ways, promising to meet again on the morrow.
Pamon left the Bendel manor and headed straight into the streets. Her footsteps, bouncing to a fluttering rhythm, were not just light but cheerful. The hem of her purple robe swayed in tune with her steps.
<Really now.>
Duran clicked his tongue at Pamon’s behavior. It’s a book, but it clicked its tongue anyway.
<Have you already gotten used to it?>
“Hm? To what?”
<This city. You were so disgusted when you first came here.>
“Was I?”